“Won’t I have to hear it all sometime?” Susan asked. “You might as well tell me what you know. Reality can’t be worse than things I’ve imagined since Sunday.”
Henry spoke up. “They believe your aunt was killed with a gun most hunters wouldn’t have with them. It was a .38 Military and Police, commonly called a Police Special, and that’s a handgun, one meant to kill or injure people. JoAnne evidently left home in her truck to meet someone on Saturday morning about 6:30. She left a note that mentioned the time, 6:30, and we assume it referred to a meeting. She drove to the barn on the old farm in the valley. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes,” Susan said. “And I’ve been reminded of the area every time I talked with Aunt JoAnne recently, because of the quarry.”
“Well, someone did meet her there, in the old barn, and that person shot her while she was sitting in her truck.”
In response to Susan’s gasp, Henry went on quickly, “She died instantly. We’re... they’re sure she had no idea what was going to happen. The killer stood outside the driver’s window of the truck, probably talking with her, and she wouldn’t have seen the gun until the last minute. There was absolutely no sign, according to the sheriff’s department, that she tried to escape or struggled to get away from anyone.”
“Oh,” Susan said, very quietly. “And then... ?”
“The person put her body in the back of the truck, under the camper shell. The sheriff’s department says they have no idea why, but I think, and possibly they do, that the killer knew approximately how long it takes a body to stiffen after death and didn’t want it to be in seated position in the cab of the truck. It looks like the killer wanted her body lying down, which may mean that what the person did later, moving her to Carrie’s hillside, was already planned. When the killer moved the body to the back of the truck, he—or she—probably got blood on their clothing, but there wasn’t any usable evidence on or around the truck. No fingerprints.”
Susan broke in. “You said he or she, does that mean a woman could have killed my aunt?”
“It’s physically possible. JoAnne was tall, but not heavy, and even though the killer did pull her from the cab and take her around to the back of the truck, most women could have managed it since it was only a short distance.
“Your aunt was wearing her red coat, which has since disappeared, and her red stocking cap was somewhere around, but she didn’t have it on at the time of her death. We, uh, found it later and it had no blood on it at all. Her coat and purse are still missing.”
“So that was Saturday morning,” Susan said. “What happened next?”
“JoAnne was left in the truck through the day and over night. Of course, a passer-by could have found her there. Just looking in the cab of the truck would have told anyone, in daylight at least, that there was something wrong because of the blood, but the killer probably knew there wasn’t much risk of that. The old farm is on a dead-end road, and no one would have any reason to go to the barn. On the side toward the road, the barn looks like it’s falling down anyway. Only the south side is still pretty firm. There are often hunters in the area this time of year, but it’s likely if any of them saw the truck, they’d think it was one more hunter’s truck and leave it alone.
“Early Sunday morning, the killer returned before daylight and moved the body to his or her vehicle, probably a truck. The ground was hard, and there were no prints of any kind. Then that person drove up the fire road to the hilltop back of Carrie’s house, dragged the body downhill, and put it in almost the exact place where Carrie’s husband, Amos, was killed five years ago.”
“Oh, my,” Susan said. “This hasn’t been easy for you, Carrie. But, why there? It seems the whole story involves more than Aunt JoAnne. It’s all so crazy.”
“When we find out why,” said Henry, “then we’ll likely know who.”
An unmistakable sound came from Johnny’s half of the back seat.
“That reminds me,” Susan said. “I didn’t want to bring bulky packages of diapers, so I only have a few with me. Can we please stop somewhere and buy diapers?”
* * *
Susan insisted on going into the Wal-Mart in Rough Creek by herself, so Henry and Carrie sat in the car listening to a conversational babble coming from the back seat. The fact that the voice was light and tiny and there were no recognizable words made no difference. The noises had the tone and inflection of human language.
“He seems like a very bright baby,” said Henry, looking over his shoulder. “You said he was six months old. He’s almost talking, isn’t he?”
“Not yet. He’s copying the sounds he hears. I imagine he thinks he’s talking, and undoubtedly Susan and Putt talk to him a lot.”
“Does he go to day-care while she’s at work? Too bad she can’t stay home with him.”
“Well, yes, but in this case it works out rather nicely. The company she works for, the home office of a brokerage firm in Kansas City, has child-care facilities right in the building. She can go there during breaks to nurse the baby.”
Henry was still watching Johnny.
“Cara?”
“Um?”
“Am I imagining it, or does that baby look just a bit like me?”
“No, you aren’t imagining it. He looks so much like you that it’s embarrassing. I’ve been wondering what to do or say about it.”
“Do you think Susan noticed?”
“I don’t see how she could miss it. But then, since she’d have no idea of any connection, maybe she just passed it off as a coincidence.”
“We can’t say anything.”
“I suppose not.”
Both of them fell into a thoughtful silence, and Carrie noticed the baby was quiet too. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he had fallen asleep.
Henry also looked at the sleeping baby, then said, “You may be wondering why I was willing to go ahead and describe how JoAnne was killed to Susan. You said it earlier, and she did just now, and you’re both right. When a tragedy like this hits, knowing what really happened is better than imagining. It’s best to hear the facts told in an unemotional way, face them, deal with it, then get on with your life. I saw that over and over when I was with the department.”
“Yes, I understand,” said Carrie.
She looked toward the store entrance and said, “Here comes Susan.”
They turned to watch her as she started toward them.
“Cara?”
“Yes?”
“I think you don’t see her the same way I do, maybe because you’re a woman. She’s very pretty.”
As Susan’s slender blue-jeaned legs swung across the parking lot, Carrie had to agree with him. The dark, shiny hair, cut to the level of her chin, swayed as she walked, and her oval face, though sober, was flushed becomingly.
The orange jacket she wore accented the warmth of her olive skin.
“Yes, I agree,” said Carrie as Henry got out to open the door. “She’s very pretty.”
“There,” Susan said as she bounced into the back seat, bringing a rush of cold air. “We’re fixed for a little while at least. Thanks for stopping. Now you can tell me the rest of what’s going on—what you’ve found out about the quarry owner and all of it.”
So Carrie talked the rest of the way home, with Henry adding comments here and there, bringing Susan up-to-date on everything that had happened in Walden Valley since Sunday.
“Do you think Carrie’s in some danger?” Susan asked Henry, as he repeated his speculations about why JoAnne had been brought to the big tree beside Carrie’s walking path.
“I just don’t know, but everything about this worries me. There are so many peculiar things that we have no explanations for yet. The sheriff’s department has suspicions about Stoker, the quarry owner, but so far they have no proof of anything. The bullet that killed JoAnne was stuck in the wall upholstery of the truck cab across from where she was sitting. It was stopped by the metal wall. But, though Stoker owns several
guns, none they found at his house could be the murder weapon. It would have been easy to dispose of the gun, though. Easy for him, or anyone else. It could be anywhere in the tri-state corner—in Arkansas, Missouri, or Oklahoma—and that’s a pretty big hiding place. It could lie in some hollow for years without anyone seeing it.”
“Carrie, I’m not letting you out of my sight the whole time I’m here,” said Susan. “I’ll protect you from any more of what happened last night. We’ll stick together now.
“It does sound like there might be something worth finding in those caves, though. Going to search them sounds like fun but under the circumstances a little scary too. I don’t think the two of us should go alone. I think Henry should come along.”
“I’d insist on it,” Henry said.
* * *
As they headed down the lane toward Carrie’s garage, Susan said, “Oh look, there’s FatCat, come to say hello.”
Carrie stared at the cat, who was sitting upright on the porch watching them.
“But she doesn’t go outside,” Carrie said. “JoAnne never let her out, and I don’t. She was inside the house when we left. She didn’t get past us, did she, Henry?”
“I don’t think she could have,” he said. His words sounded clipped and tense.
He didn’t put the station wagon in the garage, but pulled up in the drive, asked Carrie for her house key, and was out before she could unfasten her seat belt. He scooped the cat up with one hand and unlocked the door with the other.
Henry didn’t open the door at once. He came quickly back to Carrie and said in a low voice, “Take the cat, then get back in the station wagon, and lock the doors. Be ready to drive immediately. I’m going inside. You stay here with Susan and the baby. If anyone comes out of the house but me, or I’m not back in five minutes, don’t get out. Go for help.”
Carrie had no time to protest. He pushed the cat in her arms, opened the door to the house, and was gone.
Chapter XVIII
For a while all Carrie could think of was that, without hesitation, Henry had rushed into what could be danger and, once more, it was her danger. Her house... her danger. But why her danger? Why here? Why!
She tried to settle her thoughts... to pray for Henry’s safety, which should be the most important thing at the moment.
“Men want you to need them.”
Shirley—wonderful, warm, mother-woman Shirley—had said it, but her words were only half of Henry’s idea.
“People need people,” he’d said. Well, children needed adults, and less fortunate ones needed help, but she was strong by herself! She would stand on her own feet!
As she began a prayer, a phrase from Second Corinthians 8:14 came to her: “... that there may be equality.”
Funny thing to come to mind now. Bible passages now should be part of her prayer for Henry, but, there it was. Equality. Sharing. Helping each other. But how could she prove her ability to be independent when troubles like now came up and she needed help, time after time?
In Kansas City, they said Henry had lost his nerve. But what about now? He had rushed into her house so quickly that there was no chance for her to say anything at all, either of encouragement or protest. He’d just done what he must do. Was that simply his training taking over, or was it concern for her life and home as well? Whatever it was, it took plenty of bravery, plenty of nerve.
Equality. Everyone had a roll to play out at any time... a God-given role. Like now? Yes, like now.
In spite of her fear and confusion, Carrie suddenly felt a peculiar sort of peace.
She heard Susan move in the back seat.
Whatever was happening, whatever the danger, it had begun to touch Susan too. Until this moment it seemed right for Susan to come here. But was it safe?
Susan moved again, a quick, nervous bounce. Finally, she said, “I can’t stand this! Don’t you think we should check? Surely he could have looked through the house by now.”
Susan’s young life probably wouldn’t yet understand what Carrie was thinking, so, without taking her eyes off the front door, she said, “He needs to know we’re safe in the car. He’s trained to deal with things like this. He will be all right.”
I hope I really believe that, she told herself, still watching the door.
“Well, if I didn’t have Johnny with me, I’d be in that house right now,” Susan said.
Maybe I should be, Carrie thought.
Susan shifted nearer the car door, another quick bounce. “Does he carry a gun?” she asked.
“No, no, he doesn’t, not anymore.”
Just then Henry reappeared.
“Someone was in the house when I opened the door,” he told them as Carrie got out of the car, “but he’s gone now. I only caught a glimpse as he jumped off your deck, but I think I might recognize him again. Funny, I know he saw me too, and he’d made no effort to get away until he did. I don’t think he was expecting me to be the one who came in the house.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, his words coming slowly, carefully, and almost without expression. “I’m thankful you and Susan weren’t here alone.”
“I... I am too.”
“I took a quick look around. Nothing seems disturbed, other than the glass in the door to your deck. I’m afraid it’s smashed.”
She stared at his sober face. “But why? Why?”
He shook his head and went on. “I’m sure I interrupted whatever was intended. I’ve called Taylor. He’s on the way, and until he arrives, we’ll stay out of the main part of the house and not touch anything. They’ll search the woods, of course, but the man will be long gone, and there will undoubtedly be signs that a vehicle has been using the old fire road again.”
Carrie was no longer frightened. She was furious. “This is outrageous! What’s more, it makes no sense. As soon as we can, when we’re all fed and Johnny is settled for his nap, we’ve got to talk, and think, and decide where among all this craziness something does make sense.”
The first thing Carrie did was shut FatCat in the laundry room with her basket, water, toys, and litter box, hoping a quick back rub was enough apology. Then, while Susan tended to the baby and Henry carried in luggage, she looked around quickly and checked to see if JoAnne’s box was intact. It was. Henry was right. There was no sign anything but the door had been disturbed.
She called her insurance company and the patio door company from the kitchen, then began work on the soup she’d planned for lunch—an easy combination of canned tomato soup, chopped frozen tomato from her summer garden, celery, onions, and basil, combined with quick rice and a dash of hot pepper sauce. Cold baked ham would do for meat. She couldn’t manage more now.
In a few minutes, Henry appeared in the kitchen. “Susan’s settled and feeding the baby. I’ll clean up the broken glass after Taylor’s through. Your door was smashed with a big rock—it’s still there. It would have been very noisy, so the intruder knew you were gone. I’ll go get plywood to put up after Taylor leaves, though I hate to leave you alone now.”
Carrie finished brushing garlic butter on a pan of unroll-and-bake french bread and put it back in the oven. “Don’t worry about the plywood,” she told him. “The glass people are coming right away. They were available, and the insurance company says it’s okay under the circumstances.”
She lifted the soup pot lid to stir, then wiped steam off her glasses. “Henry, do you think there’s any danger for Susan and Johnny? If so, I’d like to put them on a plane back to Kansas City. But first, maybe the three of us working together can make some sense of all this. Let’s talk and combine all our ideas and knowledge of JoAnne. I’d think we had a lunatic on our hands, except, well, it seems focused toward a few of us fighting the quarry, doesn’t it? If so, Susan should be safe.”
“I don’t see how Susan could be in any danger,” he said, “but I plan to sleep on your couch again tonight, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to move to JoAnne’s house tomorrow. I believe in stic
king together.”
The lunch was a success. Both Susan and Henry assumed she’d spent hours creating the soup, and her salad made with strawberry gelatin, frozen strawberries, and whipped cottage cheese was always a hit. Dessert was Sara Lee cake.
They were just finishing the meal when Taylor appeared at the front door. He greeted Carrie cordially, but showed no interest in asking her more questions. She’d already decided if he did, she was going to spice things up by inventing something exotic. The man already knew more about her than most of her friends and family.
Carrie introduced Susan, then left her with the men and went back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Taylor evidently didn’t have much to ask Susan, because in a few minutes she re-joined Carrie in the kitchen. They made fresh cups of coffee and sat at the table while Carrie described her visit to the lawyer and the preliminary plans for Saturday’s memorial service. Susan approved the plans and agreed to a meeting with the lawyer on Friday.
They heard the front door shut and in a minute Henry was with them. “I pulled the drapes over the door,” he said. “That’ll have to do until the repair people come.”
“Anything new from Taylor?” Carrie asked.
“No clues as to who broke in, which isn’t surprising, and he also said they haven’t found any helpful evidence or any more pieces of pottery on the old farm. They located Stoker, and he says he was at a club with friends last night. They’re checking on that. I suppose the man could create an alibi by getting his friends to lie for him. But, as you know, Taylor’s pretty good at smooth-talking with folks and finding out more than they planned to tell.
“I told him that both you and I would like to see Charles Stoker, especially since I got a glimpse of the man who broke in here. Maybe they’ll plan a line-up.”
Carrie made another cup of coffee, and Henry sat. She’d noticed he wasn’t too big for her kitchen chairs after all. Not larger than life, she thought. Just a big man!
She pushed a pad of legal paper out in the center of the table and said, “Now, let’s think. What do we know?”
A Valley to Die For Page 18
